


consider this a vacation (even if it's mandatory)

by pseudoanalytics



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, An Attempted Shopping Spree, Culture Shock, Earth AU, Found Family, M/M, Public Transport Antics, San Francisco, Sightseeing, actually more of a, sort of, specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics
Summary: "I have a mission for you. Off-planet. Highly secretive," Mon Mothma says, and after weeks of being confined to the medbay, they can't help but accept.---in which the rogue one team battles paper credits, strangely unimpressive Earthan monuments, speeders that don't hover, and these tiny datapads called iPhones(this was originally started just to prove that so-called "modern au's" are actually just "earth au's" for star wars fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok so hear me out, in star wars fic, when ppl say it's a modern au, they're really just writing about the characters on earth with no space travel or off-planet knowledge
> 
> so here's a real modern au, where the "a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..." doesn't exist 
> 
> also, this was going to be far longer and more involved but then politics happened and i wasn't really feeling "earth" anymore, so here you go

“We’re relocating,” Mon Mothma announces, and the whole rebel base comes to life at once.

Everyone has enjoyed their downtime since the destruction of the Death Star, and resident celebrities, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo have been praised by the exuberant masses.

What with all the commotion, it’s not hard to forget about four recovering newcomers and an intelligence agent confined to the medbay.

It’s a strange feeling that they’re all battling. None of them were in it for the glory, and none of them really want the fame the new trio is facing, yet something seems inherently wrong that this Skywalker kid is taking all the credit, just because he blew up a target that no one would have known about without their help.

Or at least K-2SO says as much, and the members of the Rogue One crew all nod along.

With the exception of Bodhi, who is still wheelchair-bound for now, the group is mobile and physically capable of helping with the dismantlement of the base, but at the orders of the council, they’re forced to remain in the sickbay instead. Cassian is restless, taking to pacing the empty halls at night, sometimes pushing Bodhi along with him. After a lifetime built on serving the rebellion, he’s lost without a mission and a purpose, and he has turned to Bodhi for comfort instead. He wouldn't call him his boyfriend--the term seems too juvenile--but they are definitely a matched set, sure to have been the talk of the mess hall if they hadn't been hidden away instead.

"Emotionally constipated" Captain Cassian Andor in a romantic relationship? The gossip would have spread incredibly fast, despite his lack of fame amongst the other rebels. Cassian wonders if he should actually consider himself fortunate to be protected from all that.

Jyn is bored too, of course, but she won’t show it. After all, being fed and cared for in a safe haven is the best scenario she’s ever been left alone in. Besides that, she’s starting to think she might not actually be as alone as she’s previously thought. The others have grown on her as well, and she'd be lying if she said she isn't growing fond of them.

Kaytoo is little more than a datapad at the moment. Cassian has restored him to a recent backup, and the droid makes up for his lack of a body by filling the room with his robotic voice whenever he can.

“He just likes to hear himself speak,” mutters Cassian, and Bodhi shakes his head and adjusts his earplugs as he tries to get some sleep.

Baze and Chirrut seem fidgety. With them being the oldest of the group, Cassian would assume they’d take well to leisure and rest, but they’re just as eager to get out and just do something.

All things considered, when Mon Mothma enters their ward, they’re all quick to snap to their feet, or at least sit up straight, in Bodhi’s case.

“I have a mission,” she says, and if five grown adults could convey shouting for joy through posture alone, they’d be doing so. “It’ll be difficult, especially for you, but I need you to understand the importance of this job.” She slides a envelope from the hands of a bodyguard, passing it forward to Cassian. He accidentally tears the top in his haste to open it and extract the folder inside.

The cover sheet shows an image of a relatively small planet; its surface is brown and green with wide swaths of blue surrounding the landmasses. A cloudy atmosphere obscures some of the view, and at the top of the page is its name: Urthha.

“What do you need us to do?” Cassian breathes, passing the picture around. Chirrut holds it in front of his face for far too long before Baze knocks him on the head and rips the page from his hands.

“Urthha is a small planet in a remote galaxy. It’s relatively system-locked, meaning that its inhabitants very rarely, and in most cases never, leave its surface. Those who do, have yet to go any further than the small moon that orbits it.” Jyn wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Their technological development is stunted, though they put unnecessary care into improving devices that serve little useful purpose. In short, the Empire has no interest in the planet. It is the perfect place to hide.”

“The new destination for our base?” guesses Cassian, but Mon Mothma shakes her head.

“Not for the base, Captain Andor. For you. Please, all of you. Sit down.” With a wide sweep of a white sleeved arm, she seems to seat them all herself, as if they were puppets on strings. In reality, they cling tight to every word she says, leaning close, ears perked. “I know the latest excitement on base has been Skywalker and his friends, but you five are still very well known and huge targets for the Empire. They have your names, and they have your faces, and they will offer exorbitant rewards for your capture.” Bodhi looks seconds from being violently ill, and Cassian and Jyn each grab one of his handles in case he needs to be raced to the fresher at a moment's notice. “What I’m asking for you five to do, is to lay low for just a couple of weeks. Give the Alliance time to relocate, without the additional concerns that someone will grow power-hungry and cook up a ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme that lands you all in the hands of the Empire and exposes the vulnerable Alliance.”

Baze scoffs now, turning away in frustration. Cassian’s jaw has tightened, and an argument in gathering in his eyes.

Jyn laughs humorlessly. “You want us to get out of your way?”

“It’s for your own safety—”

“We’re an unnecessary burden, a threat now? We risked our lives for those plans, our lives.” Jyn’s fists clench on her thighs, and the decision of whether or not to buck authority is flashing across Cassian’s face, his mouth occasionally opening as he debates if he should speak.

“We know,” Mon Mothma continues, pushing past all of their protests, audible or not, “and we thank you. Which is why we’re asking you not to think of this as a punishment, but as a vacation.”

Cassian has made up his mind. “A vacation? Really? In the midst of a war?” He shakes his head at the ground and pushes aside Bodhi’s attempt to rest a hand on his knee. “We aren’t going. This is a waste of resources and manpower, and you know it. We won’t be ignored and hidden away like we’re, we’re, broken and useless!”

The steel in Mon Mothma’s eyes reminds them all that she’s more than a politician; she’s a self-made woman, and she will not back down from every fight. “And what kind of manpower are you right now? Fresh out of the medbay, still recovering from trauma both physical and mental. You think it’s smart of me to have you on the front lines right now? In the shape you're in?” She gestures at Bodhi, who recoils visibly. “You don’t want it to be called a vacation? Fine. Let me put it in terms you can understand. If the Alliance is a Death Star, you are our reactor, our weak spot. Let me cover you up during this risky part of our operation, lest I destroy our fleets allowing you to stay. When I said this was a mission, I meant it. This is not optional, Captain.”

The fight drains from Cassian’s face, and he returns to blank, military acceptance. “Yes, sir,” he declares, and he takes the folder back from Jyn. “We’ll brief ourselves immediately.”

Mon Mothma sends them a wan smile, as if trying to smooth over the emotions packed into the tiny room. “Very good. You leave at dawn.” Then she’s turning, all gauzy, white linen, and swirling out of the medbay, entourage in tow.

The group sit around for a few seconds before Baze breaks the silence.

“Well, this is bullshit.”

There’s a few grumbles of assent from the others.

Cassian turns back to Bodhi, swiping a thumb across his kneecap apologetically. “I didn’t mean to push you away. It just… wasn’t the time.”

“It’s fine.” Bodhi does that little half-shrug that means it’s not really fine, but he’s trying to get over it.

With a self-flagellating sigh, Cassian leans over the armrests to wrap Bodhi in a tight hug. Bodhi’s eyebrow tip like he’s sad, but the smile that spreads on his face as his hands clutch at Cassian’s back cancels it out.

Chirrut waves a hand demandingly. “Well? You heard the senator. Let’s read this mission dossier.”

Cassian passes the folder over before he thinks it through.

“You can’t even read that,” Baze hisses, but Chirrut just shrugs and hands the thick packet to him.

“What do you think you’re here for?”

“What really concerns me here is that the Alliance is supposed to be going paperless,” Kaytoo pipes up from his spot on Cassian’s bed.

“Mon Mothma won’t want this on record. Especially since she’s apparently keeping this a secret from everyone else.” 

Kaytoo gives a robotic hum of approval. “Will I be included on this so-called vacation to Urthha?”

“I don’t know, Kay. I doubt it. You won’t get in the way of the move,” Cassian sighs, rubbing his temples in that familiar way that indicates a stress-related headache coming on.

“Earth,” Baze says. The odd word sounds foreign on his tongue. “Locals call it ‘Earth.’”

“Well, it has a nice ring to it,” Chirrut muses.

“How distastefully unoriginal,” grouses Kaytoo.

Baze sighs and holds the packet out, the papers fanned oddly from rifling through them. “Too much information. I say we figure it out once we’re there.”

Bodhi shakes his head. “Bad idea. Bad idea. What— what if there’s something really important in there? A matter of life or death? We need to read that very carefully.”

“Well then you can read it.” Baze drops the folder into his lap, and some of the pages slip to the floor. With the briefing looking more and more bedraggled, the idea of reviewing the whole thing looks less inviting by the second.

“I vote we wing it,” Jyn says, and the other three, sans Bodhi, look down at the mess on the floor and agree. “It worked on Scarif, didn’t it?”

Bodhi sputters indignantly, gesturing to his wheelchair, but they all ignore him. “Fine,” he sighs, wheeling his way to his bed in the corner of the room. “See you all in the morning. I’ll just be…” He waves the folder limply. “You know…”

With a light grunt, Cassian scoops up the dropped papers and leaves them at the bedside. “Tomorrow,” he says. He runs a light hand through Bodhi’s hair where it hangs out of his ponytail. "Don't stay up too late."

Bodhi looks so unimpressed that Cassian thinks he's been hanging around Baze too often.

The others all climb into their respective beds, and Kaytoo prattles about the importance of rest on the human psyche until Jyn tells him to shut up. The lights in the room dim, except for Bodhi’s torch as he prepares to read into the night.

Morning comes far too soon for most of their tastes. Kaytoo blasts a sprightly tune that has Cassian swearing in every language he’s ever learned, and Bodhi nearly hyperventilates from the shock.

Chirrut and Baze sit side-by-side on the floor, meditating as they have been for nearly an hour now, and neither give so much as a twitch at the sound.

The five of them prepare in relative silence, dressing and taking their turns in the fresher. Together they make their way to the flight deck, meager possessions in hand.

Waiting by their transport is General Draven, looking far more alert and awake than even a military official has any right to be so early in the morning. Beside him on the tarmac is a table with an odd collection of a stick and some white boxes, and Jyn’s fingers itch with the innate urge to pocket something. Chirrut seems to somehow notice, because he slips one of her hands into his own.

Mon Mothma hurries out from a port-gate, looking a little frenzied for once. “You’re not bringing that,” she says, looking confused at Baze’s heavy repeater and power pack. After a moment, she takes in the blasters strapped to Jyn and Cassian’s hips and Chirrut’s uneti staff. “None of that. You can’t bring any of that. Didn’t you read the briefing notes?”

They all turn to Bodhi, whose eyes widen as he looks away at the floor. After composing himself, he gives a nervous laugh while attempting to twirl a finger in a tendril of hair and still remain upright on his new crutches.

Draven’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Uh…” Bodhi starts. Jyn gives him a look reminiscent of when she made him first name their shuttle Rogue One. “The people who live on Earth don’t take too kindly to uh… large weapons? Yeah. They don’t, don’t like that. So, yeah, that’s a thing.” He trails off, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Baze makes a noise that makes it clear that he’s very upset about leaving his gun behind. Jyn and Cassian relinquish their arms to Draven’s outstretched hands as well.

“The staff,” Mon Mothma continues, and now Baze really looks angry. “Urthha is not unfamiliar with blindness, but they use these instead.” She passes the white stick to Chirrut.

“Page 45,” Bodhi mumbles helpfully. “It’s a cane.”

“Cane,” Chirrut says, deep in thought. He hands over his staff and accepts the stick, running his fingers along its smooth, white surface. “Not very sturdy, is it?”

“Yes, well,” Draven snorts, looking a tiny bit amused. “It’s certainly not intended to be taking out stormtroopers.”

Chirrut chuckles at that, already adapting to the new cane and tucking it at his side.

Draven reaches down for the four boxes, handing one to each of the others.

“And here are your phones,” Mon Mothma says, as if it should be self-explanatory. Cassian thinks it’s fairly obvious who did the required readings, because Bodhi’s eyes are wide as he reverently accepts his box, still gingerly balanced on a crutch. The others stare down with a mixture of confusion and disdain. There’s a picture on top, bright and vividly printed. It looks like an odd rendition of a datapad, but much smaller and with tiny, colorful squares already on the screen instead of the monotone blue they’re used to.

“You can tinker on your flight over,” Draven says, clearing his throat. Bodhi looks so excited that Cassian assumes this whole “iPhone”-thing can’t be that bad.

“Upon touchdown, you’ll be taken to another ship, an Urthhan one, an airplane, and you’ll be sent to your destination from there.”

“Sounds good,” Cassian replies, and Mon Mothma gets a bit of a mischievous look in her eyes.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Cassian looks rather sheepish, as does Bodhi, though he always looks that way. Jyn and Baze don’t even change expressions, and Chirrut is looking off somewhere to the right.

She knows how to spot a losing battle when she sees one. “Off you go. May the Force be with you, Captain.”

Cassian gives a wonky salute, taking Bodhi’s box so he can hobble up the boarding ramp easily.

The five of them cluster on board, and Cassian and Bodhi each look twitchy at the idea that they aren’t piloting the craft. With a burst of repulsers, the ship takes off, and they soar into hyperspace.

Bodhi is shaking with excitement as he lifts the lid of his iPhone. He delicately pulls out the slim item inside, and Cassian stares at it in confusion.

“It’s so much smaller than a datapad,” he says, starting to open his own. 

Across the cabin, Baze swears as his box slips open faster than anticipated, and the phone lands loudly on the metal floor. He picks it up and inspects it carefully for damage, but it seems to be fine. The screen has lit up, a bright, glowing white, with “Hello!” written in Basic in the middle. Baze just stares at it, until the light dims and goes out, returning to black, before he plops it back into its box again, completely uninterested. He stretches and yawns and tilts against Chirrut instead. “Wake me when we’re there,” he mumbles, and a dozing Chirrut hums lightly in response. 

When Cassian turns back to Bodhi, he’s raising and lowering his thumb on the phone’s only visible button, and it makes a soft buzz each time.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling it my fingerprint.”

“What?”

“I can unlock it just by touching it with my thumb, apparently.”

Cassian sighs down at his phone and starts tapping until he reaches the point where it asks for his fingerprint too.

"Is it safe to tell this thing so much? Is it secure?"

Bodhi shrugs and starts adding his index finger's print as well.

The rest of the flight is passed with Bodhi excitedly playing technician, getting everyone’s phones up and running to their full potential. He types their names and numbers into a square—an app, the packet had said—called Phone and makes sure to take weird pictures of each of them to assign as a contact image.

Phones are pretty interesting, Cassian decides. Jyn seems to agree, if the way she’s snapping pictures left and right means anything. “It’s not a holo,” she says, amused, looking at an image of Chirrut mid-snore. “It’s just… flat.”

They tinker until they exit hyperspace and Urthha, or rather, Earth, is in view. Up close, its shadowed side is covered in tiny pinpricks of light, clustering across the landforms.

“There’s so many people,” Bodhi breathes. “They just… they cover the whole thing.”

“Their lights are bright,” Baze says in neither a fairly ambivalent tone. 

Chirrut leans close. “What do you see?” he whispers, and the way Baze draws him into a hug as he starts describing is enough to make even Jyn smile.

Bodhi’s crutches click over, and Cassian pulls him into a hug too, holding his weight up and letting him loosen his grip on the metal poles.

They make their approach in darkness, and touchdown on a tiny landing pad in the middle of a wildly whipping ocean. Outside, the rain pours down, and the wind howls against the metal walls of the ship. With a wave to their pilot, the five of them disembark, rushing across the tarmac to a foreign-looking shape at the other end of the runway.

Dripping wet, they clamber into the new craft, the airplane, and the sudden change in lighting is a shock.

“This looks more like, uh, Empire, Imperial lights,” Bodhi says, eyes wide. They’re glaringly bright, casting white light everywhere. They’re so unlike the dimmer, yellowed tones of Alliance lighting.

Inside the plane are several seats, each cushioned. Cassian finally starts to feel like he’s on vacation after all.

Baze and Chirrut groan appreciatively as they sink into their padded chairs. Cassian awkwardly boards behind them and tugs Bodhi into the space next to him. Jyn sits across the aisle, bouncing slightly to test the softness.

A gentle-looking man steps out of a door in front of them. “Hello! I’m your flight attendant for today’s trip. Please note that we may experience some turbulence due to inclement weather. We wouldn’t normally take off in these conditions but,” he shrugs, still smiling, “you guys are a special case.” Bodhi swallows audibly. “In case of emergency, please access the oxygen mask in the compartment above you or the parachute and inflatable underneath your seat. There’s a restroom in the back for your convenience.” He proceeds to repeat his introduction in various Jedhian dialects.

“Fresher,” Bodhi chokes out. “A restroom is a fresher.”

The attendant gives a light laugh at that. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes, so please fasten your seat-belts now.”

Cassian watches with concern as Bodhi desperately slaps the sides of his chair for his belt, but then they’re all fastened, and there’s nothing to do but wait.

Finally the lights dim, and the plane starts to rumble forward. “Oh Force,” croaks Bodhi, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re a pilot,” Jyn hisses next to him. She looks calm at first glance, but her hands are squeezing her armrests tightly.

“Yeah, and I know what can happen if you take off in weather like this.”

Chirrut’s expected chants float back to them, and unnervingly, Baze joins in shortly afterward.

The plane goes faster and faster, until they reach a speed that, in a fighter, would already have them off the ground.

“Is this thing actually able to lift off?” Jyn spits over the roar of the motors. “And why might we need a parachute?”

"What did the senator say about Earth being technologically stunted again?" Chirrut asks, but no one answers.

A metal fence looms ahead, approaching rapidly, and Cassian shuts his eyes. Instead of the impact he’s halfway expecting, his stomach gives a slight tug like it does when they enter hyperspace, and when he cracks them open, they’re in the air.

The plane moves incredibly slowly, and it wavers back and forth in the buffeting wind until they rise above the clouds where it’s clear and calm.

Bodhi looks mildly ill. “I’d feel a lot better if I was the one flying this thing.”

“I would too,” Cassian sighs, turning to look out his tiny window.

They touch down again on a new landing strip with a bounce that clacks Jyn's teeth together, pressure throbbing in her ears. The plane slowly rolls up to a long building with big bay windows.

The flight attendant comes to help them disembark, and if Cassian’s legs are a little wobbly underneath him, the man is kind enough not to mention it.

“May the Force be with you,” he says with a wink, and then both the attendant and the last semblance of “normal” are gone.

As they enter a ramped tunnel and head for the exit, Chirrut catches Baze’s hand in his own. Baze turns to grab Jyn’s, and she links arms with Cassian in turn. Poor Bodhi struggles alongside them with his crutches tapping.

Stepping out is a shock to their system. The lights are still bright and white, but the decor is strikingly clean, like it has all been freshly wiped down. There are people everywhere, but all of the same species. Basic is being bandied about, but also a few different languages, one’s even Cassian doesn’t recognize.

“This is SFO,” Bodhi says through his panting breath, his arms flexing to keep pace with the others. Chirrut pulls on Baze’s arm to slow him down. “The main airport in San Francisco.”

“It’s loud,” Baze says.

They awkwardly make their way through the airport until they exit to a cluster of small speeders, rolling around on rubber wheels.

“They’re on the ground,” Cassian scoffs in disbelief. “What if there’s a bump in the way?”

As if on cue, one of the speeders pulls up to a manmade hump on the ground. It bounces its way over it, the people inside noticeably bobbing. Cassian looks scandalized.

There are obvious differences to the speeder models, but they all have the same basic designs, nothing like the diverse vehicles back on Yavin. Jyn takes a few pictures of them zipping around.

Bodhi walks up to a particularly large speeder, and the window slides down so the driver inside can talk to him.

“Excuse me, but we’re trying to get a ride somewhere. How do we do that?”

The man at the steering console gives Bodhi a look. “Depends where you’re trying to go.”

“We’re trying to uh.. to go to the, uh…” After some fumbling to lean against the vehicle, Bodhi wrestles off his backpack and fiddles with the folder, flipping madly through the thick ream of papers. “The Hee-yatt? Regency?”

“The Hyatt? On Embarcadero?”

“Yeah,” Bodhi says, not sounding quite convinced.

“You got money?”

“Yes. Yes, we do.”

“Then hop in.”

Bodhi slides up front, next to the speeder pilot, while Cassian has to clamber over a row of seats to find a spot in the back. Jyn, Chirrut, and Baze squeeze into the three in the center, and Baze looks incredibly squished in the middle position. He throws an arm up on the backrest behind Chirrut, who purrs, “Oh, this is nice,” and curls into him.

The pilot adjusts the odd yoke, and seems to ease on the throttle, and the speeder takes off. It’s immediately noticeable how bumpy it is. There’s a reason that sane planets keep their transportation off the ground, Cassian thinks. He’s experiencing the bulk of the bouncing since he’s in the back, but what with how slowly they’re going, he shouldn’t be able to feel anything if the speeder had been designed correctly.

It’s so slow that they have to travel for nearly half an hour to get to their hotel, and when they pull up, Jyn realizes that it looks nothing like what she imagined. She’s stayed in hotels before, always under aliases, and always in disgustingly dirty, hole-in-the-wall hovels. This skyscraper of glass and clean angles is completely different. She gapes out the window at both the building and the odd, colorful people that mill about outside.

The driver points at the fare counter. “That’s your total.”

“Right,” Bodhi breathes, looking frantically from the number on the tiny screen to the paper credits he has clutched in his hands. “How do you…?”

“Here, I can help. I won’t cheat you, I swear.” The man laughs at his own joke as he leans over and rifles through the sheets, taking a few and stowing them away. He hands Bodhi some coins in return. “You from out of the country? You sound British. You guys from England or something?”

Bodhi looks like the man has revealed he’s secretly Darth Vader.

“Yes,” Jyn pipes up. “We’re from England.”

“Knew it!” the speeder pilot laughs. “Your accents. First time to the States though, I take it?”

“Yep,” Jyn says again.

Silence descends.

“We better go,” Chirrut stage-whispers, feeling for the door handle and letting himself out.

“Are you British, too?” the man says with confusion, but they hastily say their goodbyes instead. “Hey!” he calls before they can head inside. “If you guys wanna go anywhere again, I’d take BART. The nearest station is right over there.”

Cassian gives his fake diplomatic smile and waves for them. “Thanks for the tip!”

They hurry into the massive building.

A lady is standing behind the check-in desk when they enter. Her name tag says “Yvonne.”

“How can I help you today?” she asks, all smiles.

“Two rooms, please,” replies Bodhi. At least this part he knows. He’s used to checking into hostels from his cargo pilot days.

“Uh huh,” the woman says, but she’s staring at Bodhi with wide eyes.

“Sorry… what…” he trails off, and she looks sheepish.

“No, I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look exactly like a celebrity I know of.

Bodhi smiles weakly. “Oh really?”

“Yeah! He makes music. Hmm. His name is escaping me. I think it starts with an R?” Her forehead wrinkles in thought as she types in their information, then it clears as she straightens. “Zayn Malik! That’s the guy.”

“Oh. No, I’m uh, I’m not him.”

She hums in acknowledgement, still typing.

Jyn feels uncomfortable in the commotion of the lobby. Their group is getting plenty of unwanted attention and odd stares, especially Baze. She’s not oblivious. They aren’t dressed like the other people are. She suspects a wardrobe change should be first on their list of to-do’s once they’re settled.

Bodhi has given up with the paper credits and is using the little plastic card Mon Mothma gave him instead. The lady at the desk swipes it through a reader, and they’re good to go. She hands them passkeys, and it’s a relief to finally recognize some of the technology this planet uses.

A man by a fountain stares at Jyn a little too long, so she uses her phone to snap a picture of him. He frowns and walks away.

They take an elevator, much cleaner than the one at the Alliance base, and find their rooms, side by side. A wave of their card keys lets them in, and Baze and Chirrut choose one room, letting the other three take the second one.

Bodhi collapses onto a bed with a groan. His crutches fall to the floor, and his noise becomes a moan instead.

“This is so soft. I’m never moving again. I love Earth.”

Jyn takes a running leap and flops onto the other bed. It puffs, and she bounces back up for a moment. “Oh, wow. Cassian. Feel this.”

Cassian sits gingerly on the same bed as Bodhi, but unsatisfied, Bodhi reaches up to grab a shoulder and drag him onto his back.

They all groan in unison, and the group consensus is that Alliance bunks suck ass.

After a bit, there’s a knock at the door, and Cassian points at Jyn, who points at Bodhi, who points back to Cassian. Conceding defeat, he grunts as he stands and goes to answer it, glaring good-naturedly at the other two, still comfortable on the beds.

Predictably it’s Baze and Chirrut, both fully settled and ready to get back together with the others.

“Well?” Chirrut says, arms wide and cane held outward. “This is a vacation. What’s the plan, Captain?”

“Me?” Cassian says, eyebrows raised. “I have no idea.”

“We need new clothes,” Jyn replies. The others give her a myriad of looks. “We don’t fit in. This isn’t Earthan fashion.” She gestures to Bodhi’s Alliance jumpsuit and Chirrut’s complicated robes.

“This is what happens when you allow a planet to grow in relative isolation. You get strange cultures and ideas that are nowhere else in the universe,” sighs Baze.

“I have walking directions to a strip mall,” Bodhi pipes up, and they all spin toward him. He wiggles his phone in the air in response. “Some of us read the packet and can use these things.”

“Are you certain you’re up for walking?” Chirrut asks kindly.

“I’m fine,” Bodhi assures him. He shoves the plastic card into one of his jumpsuit pockets. “Let’s go.”

They walk out of the hotel, mentally preparing themselves for an Earth shopping experience. On their way over, Chirrut gets more confused looks, probably because he is using his cane like a walking stick rather than to feel out the ground. Jyn gets a compliment on her boots from a teenage girl, and a miserable Bodhi begins to regret using crutches on the steep hills.

Finally, before he passes out from exhaustion, a group of clothing shops emerges into view.

“Go nuts,” Cassian says, and they scatter, Bodhi frantically reminding them that he’s the only one with credits to spend.

In the end, they manage to find outfits that seem suitably Earth-passing. Baze has decided on a cable knit sweater in the same bright red as his armor. Chirrut can’t stop rubbing his hands on it and declares him to be very handsome.

Cassian first walks out in a pair of skinny jeans that have Bodhi’s jaw dropping. Jyn surreptitiously snaps a picture of him from behind. “Oh, do you like them?” Cassian asks. Bodhi’s head nods like it’s barely attached to his neck. “They’re right over there if you want a pair,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to how they look on him. Bodhi picks a set out for himself anyway.

Jyn sticks with dark, soft clothing, and she keeps her boots. They seem to fit in just fine, and she’s been partial to them for a while now.

Chirrut finds a leather jacket and gold-rimmed sunglasses, and no one can talk him out of them.

Their quest to find Earth outfits works out fairly decently, and even if the boutique’s employees judge Bodhi for just layering a black t-shirt over a white turtleneck and calling it a day, they’re much less noticeable than they were in jumpsuits and body armor.

To Bodhi’s great displeasure, Cassian keeps the fluffy parka as well.

“It’s ugly,” he complains.

“It’s fashion,” retorts Cassian, pointing out a man walking by in an even furrier one.

“Earth sucks,” Bodhi whispers under his breath.

After their first big day, the whole group is exhausted and ready to rest. Cassian feels particularly badly for Bodhi who had stayed up so late the night before. They return to their hotel, casually blending in with their Earthan gear.

“I call first wash,” Jyn groans, stretching her back and enjoying the look of horror on Bodhi’s face as it releases a cacophony of pops and clicks.

Baze bumps Chirrut with his shoulder. “Are you cleaning up first, or can I?”

“Mm, I was thinking we could figure it out together. At the same time. New Earthan equipment and all.”

“They’re just like the showers back on base,” Jyn mutters in disbelief.

“Maybe Chirrut is onto something… Showering in pairs...” Bodhi croaks out, and Cassian drops the keycard.

Jyn rolls her eyes. “Now I definitely get dibs on first wash.”

Once they’re finally back in their room, Jyn locks herself in the fresher, more than ready for the first warm water she’s felt in ages. After a while of just sitting on the floor of the tub basin and enjoying herself, Jyn comes to terms with the fact that the guys will be wanting their turns, or maybe just turn, eventually. She climbs out and towels dry, and after a moment of indecision, she pulls on her old clothing, just slightly homesick for a galaxy she recognizes.

It turns out that Cassian and Bodhi are completely ready to hop in after her. They have their clean clothes rolled in portable bundles, and by the way Bodhi’s hair spills messily over his shoulders, Cassian’s hand still entangled in it, she thinks she knows how they’ve been entertaining themselves.

Cassian helps support Bodhi’s shaky walk to the fresher. Jyn hears the click of the lock a second later. She sprawls on her bed, her mental state growing dangerously close to content. She doesn’t usually allow herself relaxation. Years of training have taught her that the alert survive and the oblivious die off.

A loud thud on the adjoining wall reminds her of Chirrut and Baze’s presence. Maybe, Jyn thinks, she can let herself have a little fun. This time she knows there are people to guard her back.

She starts to doze off, but seconds after she starts to fade, Bodhi audibly yells oh my god, the fresher door swings open, and a dripping Cassian runs out, wrapped in a towel.

“Jyn! You have to come see this!”

She follows him back into the bathroom and has to slap a hand over her mouth at what she sees.

Bodhi is sitting in the tub, surrounded by huge piles of soapy suds.

“It’s a bubble bath!” he laughs. “I’ve never had the chance to have a bubble bath. Look at this! They have a special soap for it.”

Jyn sits on the edge of the tub and reaches out to take the bottle. It’s rather unimpressive, so she sets it down on the floor. With a quick hand, she swipes up a fistful of suds and plops it on Bodhi’s head.

“Oh my god,” Cassian whispers, tying his towel and kneeling next to her feet. He adds soap to Bodhi’s face and chin, and Jyn catches on quickly. Together they make him a beard to rival Baze’s, cackling at his protests.

“Hold on. Don’t ruin it,” Jyn snorts, and she runs to grab her phone. With a careful, steady hand, she snaps a picture.

“Let me see,” Bodhi says, then he coughs and spits as bubbles touch his tongue.

Jyn takes a video.

The next day Chirrut demands they learn who or what BART is. Bodhi makes an inquiry at the desk, and they are pointed towards a set of stairs heading under the street. Cassian descends cautiously, like he’s expecting attack, until Jyn laughs at him and calls him suspicious. 

People move quickly around them, clearly experienced with this BART thing.

“It’s transportation,” Baze calls, pointing at a sign.

Chirrut cocks his head. “Many of them seem to head over there first.” He nods towards a set of small kiosks against the wall. They hurry over, and Bodhi slides his credit card in and out, slowly but surely buying them all tickets for fifty Earthan credits each.

“Is fifty a lot?” Jyn asks quietly.

“I… I haven’t any idea,” murmurs Bodhi.

They stand silently, holding their tickets.

“Well, it’s too late now,” Chirrut says with a shrug. He takes off towards the gates, and Baze is close behind.

With some brief fumbling, they manage to swipe and grab their tickets, hurrying even lower underground until they reach a platform of other people waiting.

When the train pulls in, Bodhi can’t hide his awe and excitement. The car is packed with people, but when he clacks in on his crutches, someone stands up to let him sit down. The person in the seat beside him sees Chirrut and calls, “Sir! Here’s a seat.” They stand up to allow him the space, and Chirrut beams. 

“Thank you, friend.” He moves closer to the opening. “Baze, here. Sit down.”

Baze does, throwing an arm behind Bodhi and getting comfortable. Cassian stands in front of Bodhi with an amused smile attempting to show on his face. Jyn looks cautiously upward where a canvas loop is hanging. She grabs it firmly, just as the train jolts into motion.

Cassian swears violently as he stumbles with the momentum change, toppling past Jyn and bumping other passengers. She sways on her feet, held up by her handle, not bothering to help him back up. Chirrut stands perfectly steadily, a hand against his face to hide his silent laughter.

Later, after a day in Berkeley, it’s Jyn’s turn to slip, but Baze’s arm comes up fast to catch and steady her. Cassian shoots them both a look.

“The stabilizers on this thing are shit,” he grumbles.

“Uh huh. Sure,” Bodhi says, with a hint of mischief.

"They are. You can't stand on this thing when it's moving."

"Maybe you just need to hang on to something stable."

"What, like you?"

Jyn rolls her eyes. “Stop flirting.”

“I— I’m not…” Bodhi looks scandalized that she would even suggest it. “That’s not flirting…”

“If you’d like, Baze and I can give you some pointers,” suggests Chirrut from where he’s leaning against the doors.

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Bodhi groans into his hands.

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes. I’m quite sure, actually.”

“Suit yourself.”

Cassian sighs. “I’m never taking BART again.”

He is of course, incorrect.

BART and the elaborate bus system seem to be the best ways to get around, so they end up relying on public transportation for their sightseeing.

Bodhi uses his phone to look up popular places to visit, and they head out to the Golden Gate Bridge, which, Baze tells Chirrut, is absolutely not golden at all and in fact looks rather reddish-orange.

Suspension bridges are nothing new to any of them, so they forgo walking its length and instead head for a little patch of land underneath it. The fog covers the very top of the Golden Gate, making it look like it’s vanishing into the sky. The ocean crashes against rocks at their feet and throws up spray that smells a little like rotting fish. Joggers pass them every few minutes to slap their hands against a concrete wall, before turning around and running back. 

They end up eating lunch there, a packed meal of muffins and sandwiches from a shop Baze had found, huddled on the gravel. Jyn and Bodhi swap their muffins back and forth for tastes. Chirrut shoves half of his in his mouth at once and valiantly chews away at it. There’s a small pile growing by Cassian’s feet as he picks the lettuce out of sandwich, wrinkling his nose at the limp leaves.

The bridge is otherwise fairly underwhelming, but Jyn enjoys the Palace of Fine Arts much more. It’s not actually a palace either, leading Cassian to severely question Earth’s ability to accurately name anything at all, but it is a lovely mix of a sculpture and outdoor structure, with steps and small flat surfaces to climb. You aren’t actually supposed to climb them, Bodhi points out, but this does nothing to stop Jyn from ascending and looking out over the water of the bay and the expanse of the city from her perch.

As Bodhi continues nervously shifting from crutch to crutch, Baze snaps, knocking his supports away and hiking him onto his back.

“Wait, stop, no no no—“ Bodhi yelps, but it’s too late, and Baze starts climbing up after Jyn.

Cassian and Chirrut follow after their respective partners, laughing softly.

It turns out the sight from the top is worth it after all. Jyn always will respect nature over manmade constructs, and she can’t help but think that a misty view of the water is worth one hundred suspension bridges. Even so, she snaps more pictures of the others than the look over the bay, and she’s aware this means something, a monumental change in perspective, as Jyn realizes what is truly making her happy right now.

Their last week doesn’t include much sightseeing after Bodhi gives them all a huge scare.

They’re climbing off a bus back at the hotel, when Cassian looks around and realizes Bodhi isn’t with them. They wait for the vehicle to clear, until it’s obvious that he never boarded with them in the first place. Panicked, Cassian taps away at his phone, trying to figure out how to page Bodhi’s.

“Phone,” Jyn snaps. “It’s the Phone app.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s Phone!”

“I’m hitting Phone. There’s just numbers.”

“Wait, change tabs at the bottom there.”

“Contacts?”

“There he is! Call him.”

They barely figure it out, but finally it’s dialing, and Cassian is running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are you?” rings Bodhi’s terrified voice through the phone’s speakers.

“Shit, Bodhi. We got separated.”

“Yeah, I uh, I noticed. Especially when I turned around, and the bus was gone.”

“Okay, we are so sorry. So sorry. Where are you? How can we find you?”

“I… I don’t know. Hold on. I can’t walk and talk.”

There’s a distant clacking of crutches, and Cassian waits impatiently, tapping his foot.

“Is he in one piece?” Baze asks, and Cassian nods.

When Bodhi starts talking again, he’s terribly out of breath. “Okay, I’m outside of some place called Lucasfilm. I think I’m going to have to catch a speeder back to the hotel.”

“Are you sure you can—“

Jyn cuts Cassian off with a hand over his mouth and a stern face.

“Sorry? What was that?” Bodhi asks.

“I said I’m sure you can do it. See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you, Cassian.”

He hangs up with a little beep.

Jyn shakes her head disapprovingly. “He doesn’t need you shaking his confidence. Not now, when he’s just starting to gain some.”

Bodhi had grown more sure of himself over the course of the trip. The only one who ever read the briefing packet, he is far better prepared for Earth and its culture, making him the expert everyone else turns to for help.

As much as they all hate to think about it, Cassian remembers Bodhi on the Scarif mission. He remembers how much stronger Bodhi had been when he was piloting their transport through the shield gate, relaying his clearance code to control.

An educated Bodhi feels less out of his depth. 

He will be fine. Cassian has to trust that.

It doesn't make him any less emotional when Bodhi half-tumbles out of a bright yellow speeder and into his arms. Baze pries Cassian off enough to wrap Bodhi into another hug.

They all head back to their rooms, shaken.

It’s agreed upon that they spend remainder of the trip close together and within walking distance of the hotel.

That night, it’s difficult for Cassian to sleep. He huddles up behind Bodhi, knees tucked behind the other’s, and he keeps one of Bodhi’s hands in his own.

Neither of them are asleep when Jyn calls across the room, “It’s a nice night for a walk.”

They couldn’t agree more.

Jyn heads next door to fetch Baze and Chirrut, and they all walk out towards the bay.

It’s a cold night, and the air bites at exposed skin and sends soft, white clouds up by their mouths. Walking on crutches is enough exercise to keep Bodhi warm, though the others are slightly chilled.

They end up on a wooden walkway, lined by lights. It leads out into the waters of the bay, into the distance, obscured by the fog. Baze scoops Bodhi into his arms, handing Jyn his crutches, and they make their way to the balcony at the end.

They sit on benches there and look out at the water. The sounds of the waves are comforting, and the Golden Gate Bridge, though initially unimpressive, is currently lit up by bright lights that appear to ripple and move. Jyn can’t look away.

Since they’re no longer walking, Bodhi starts to shiver, and when a furry jacket is draped around his shoulders, he can no longer summon up his usual animosity for Cassian’s ugly coat.

“You’ll get cold now,” he whispers, as if the atmosphere is fragile, susceptible to noise.

“I’m fine,” Cassian replies, but Bodhi pulls him in anyway, and they share as much of the parka's limited space as possible.

Chirrut’s leather jacket isn’t doing much to keep him warm, so Baze pulls off his turtleneck sweater, revealing the second one layered below, and pushes it on him. Chirrut still puts his jacket back on top.

“How are you doing, Jyn?” Baze asks, starting to lift off his second sweater, and even though she sees a third one underneath, Jyn shakes her head.

“I’m fine.” She tucks her scarf up over her nose and is pleased to discover that she is telling the truth.

They watch the glowing, white Earthan moon and wonder which of the visible stars is closest to Yavin VI. When the chill grows impossible to ignore, and Chirrut wipes his runny nose on Baze’s shoulder, they decide to head back to the hotel.

Everyone falls asleep easily.

Vacation time seems to move faster than regular time, because Cassian feels like he just blinks and it’s already their last day on Earth. Considering how angry he had been about the whole prospect, he’s shocked to realize just how much fun he has had.

He wakes up warm and comfortable, Bodhi spooned around him, face buried in the back of Cassian’s neck.

Across the gap between beds, he can see Jyn, small and compact, curled into her sheets. She’s drooled onto her pillow, Cassian notes, and he can’t help but chuckle.

The day officially starts when there’s a soft knock at the door. Cassian extracts himself from Bodhi’s arms and lets Baze and Chirrut in.

“Caf time?” Jyn mumbles sleepily, woken by the smell alone.

Baze hands her the cup marked “Gin,” before taking a sip from his own.

“Who is B-A-Y-S?” Cassian teases. Baze knocks the bottom of his cup up when he goes to take a drink, and Cassian chokes.

Bodhi yawns and stretches, almost hitting Chirrut, though he dodges in time. “Maybe if we frequented a single coffee shop, they’d learn to spell our names right.” The cup Baze hands him has only the letter B on it. Bodhi frowns at it.

Chirrut’s name is spelled perfectly on his cup. “I find telling them how to spell it usually works best,” he says with a smile that he hides behind the lid.

“Smartass,” Baze mumbles.

They wake up fully and carefully pack their belongings, old and new, before heading downstairs for checkout. Cassian shuts the door to their room after one last glance inside. Earth is making him go soft, he thinks. He’s growing sentimental.

An older man is working at the counter today, and as Bodhi hands him the room keys, he says politely, “I hope you’ll stay again soon.”

He gets five bittersweet smiles in reply.

They head into BART like San Francisco natives at this point, and they wait on the platform in silence. No one wants to admit that they’ll miss the very vacation they protested having in the first place.

The SFO train pulls up, and they hop onboard, pulling luggage close to their bodies to make room for other passengers.

Airport security is terrifying, they learn.

Shoes are thrown in bins and taken away by moving conveyor belts, and everyone but Jyn gets stopped for a thorough inspection.

They finally make it through, and Bodhi’s hands are shaking visibly where he’s clutching his ticket. Cassian pries one off of the paper and holds it tightly at their sides.

“Party of five?” someone calls, and Baze spins toward it, huddling the others behind him protectively. It turns out to be the flight attendant who brought them over. He looks rather amused to see them again. With a beckoning hand, he directs the group to a terminal, from which they walk back through a gray tunnel and board a plane. Takeoff is no less stressful the second time around, and they spend a few tense hours silently holding hands over and between seats. Jyn is embarrassed to admit she still makes a noise of surprise when they touch down.

The transport craft is already waiting for them, and everyone stumbles on board, stiffly. It’s incredible how unfamiliar traditional technology seems after only a month away. They take off, watching Earth vanish into the streaking stars of hyperspace.

"Next stop, the new Alliance base," Jyn whispers.

"I hope it has nice weather," Bodhi says.

Baze shakes his head. "Not tropical again. Too wet."

"It better not be a shit planet," grumbles Cassian. "They better pick wisely."

Hoth is a shit planet.

It’s nothing but ice and wind and death, and they all immediately miss Earth’s more temperate weather.

Inside of the base itself, it isn’t much warmer, even if it is protected from the elements.

They shiver their way down long, metal hallways towards the command station. Bodhi’s titanium-alloy crutches are freezing to the touch, so he abandons them to limp alongside their group. Baze offers assistance, but he’s turned down. Bodhi has his determined face on now. No one else says anything to deter him.

The temperature drops as they get closer to the center of the base, and Cassian raises his furry jacket collar to cover his ears. “If they were looking for the exact opposite of humid, tropical Yavin IV, they sure found it,” he grumbles. It’s not his job to complain; it’s not his job to contest the council’s decisions, but it seems a vacation has allowed him to forget appropriate conduct. He clenches his jaw in a reminder to keep silent.

Bodhi seems to notice the change, and he slides a hand into Cassian’s as a reminder to lighten up.

Their little group passes through the mess hall, swarmed with rebels. They attract little attention as they walk through. No one looks up. No one shouts their names. They’ve been forgotten. There’s really no reason most of them should be recognized in the first place. Cassian was the only real member of the Alliance to begin with anyway, but he was often off-base, in deep cover.

They’re nobodies, ghosts walking through the living.

Jyn finds it’s a relief, internally.

Bodhi is not so certain. “I just thought… I mean, I wasn’t in it for the fame or anything, but I just thought…” He trails off and scratches his nose, staring at the floor. “I thought they might thank us now? Publicly? I don’t know.”

There’s a quiet laugh from Chirrut. He’s smiling crookedly, head tilted towards Bodhi. “If they didn’t remember us before we left, they certainly won’t now.”

“So what do we do?” Bodhi asks.

Surprisingly, it’s Jyn who answers. “The same thing we did before.” They look at her. “We fight.”

That’s a rhetoric Baze can get behind. He grunts his approval at the same time that Cassian’s spine straightens, regaining his role as a soldier. Chirrut spins his cane once, reminding them, for not the first time, that while it isn’t his staff, he could still take them all out with it.

Baze doesn’t initially think Bodhi will respond well to the idea of violence, but Bodhi manages to surprise him, reaching up with shaking fingers to refold his turtleneck collar and straighten it with precision that screams Imperial training.

The man limping beside them now is different from the empty husk of a pilot they found way back when in Saw Gerrera's prison. Baze thumps him semi-lovingly on the back before he can think better of it, and Bodhi trips and goes sprawling on the cold concrete with a wince.

As a result, it takes them a while to reach Mon Mothma.

The first thing they notice upon entering the center of command is Baze’s blaster and power pack. Chirrut’s staff leans against it, and on the table nearby are Jyn and Cassian’s blasters.

Mon Mothma and General Draven watch them, vaguely amused, as they redistribute their belongings. Chirrut cracks his flimsy cane in four pieces over a kneecap. Baze gives him a look.

“I trust you weren’t completely traumatized during your stay on Urthha?” Mon asks coolly.

Cassian snaps to attention. “It wasn’t horrible, no.”

She smiles knowingly. “Please return your phones to Draven. He’ll dispose of them as needed.”

Bodhi gives his a little pat as he hands it in, while Baze flings his onto the table. Its screen has been cracked since their third vacation day. Cassian slides his to join the others, but Jyn hesitates.

“I’d like to keep it,” she says, and Cassian looks shocked. It’s not like her to put stock into material things, she knows, but she has her own reasons for wanting it.

“It won’t work here,” Draven says. “It requires Urthhan satellites to function.”

“I don’t care. I’d like to keep it, if I may.”

Mon Mothma sighs. “Well, there’s no reason against it, I suppose. General Draven will have to thoroughly inspect it for potential security breaches or illegal content, but if it passes his tests, I’ll have it returned to you.”

“Thank you,” says Jyn. The two women nod at one another.

Draven slides Jyn's phone into a pocket on his uniform. "I'll have it back to you by tomorrow," he declares.

They endure the fastest debrief of their lives, and then their welcome party is over, and they're all free to head to their quarters and unpack.

The workday isn't over for General Draven for another six hours, but when he too is free to retire to his room, he remembers Jyn's phone. The idea of keeping it is laughable. A communication device that can't communicate is as good as junk. But he'll let the girl have her quirks, he decides. 

As expected, there is no evidence of any crimes, active or potential, in her messages or outgoing and incoming calls. There are no files in the device's storage, and no notes have been taken. He hesitates before opening the Photos app.

Four hundred images load and appear.

Draven knows he must look shocked, but it takes him a moment to understand what he's seeing. With a hesitant finger, he scrolls down and randomly taps a picture. If he thought he was surprised before, it's nothing compared to how he feels now.

The photo is of a man. All signs point to it being Captain Andor, yet the person Draven works with looks nothing like this. Andor's eyes are squeezed shut, and he's been captured mid-laugh. His mouth is open in a stretched grin, and he has an arm thrown around the ex-Imperial pilot, who is only half in the frame. A blurry hand at the bottom indicates that the captain was a fraction of a second away from covering the lens, and a quick swipe to the next photo verifies this, since it's entirely black.

Draven takes a moment to compose himself, then scrolls back to the beginning and prepares for an evening of examining photos for confidential or illicit content.

The first few pictures are of the team on the shuttle. They look miserable and unamused, though the pilot is looking intently at his own phone.

There are photos of them trying on clothing. Of the assassin in a knit sweater that's far too small. Of the monk sporting bright pink glasses with tinted lenses. There's a particularly memorable one of Captain Andor's ass, and in the background, the pilot is blatantly ogling him.

Through the pictures, Draven can almost feel their increasing comfortability with the strange planet and its customs.

Captain Andor reclines on a dock, looking out across a body of water, eating out of a small foil bag. In the next image, he looks furious, fist clenched at an Urthhan bird flying off with his food packet in its beak.

The pilot stands in the rain, awkwardly balanced on crutches, but with his arms wide and face tilted up. The grin on his face is genuine, and the resolution is so high that Draven can see the individual beads of water on his face.

The monk kisses the assassin across a small table, hand fisted in his collar. They each have a cup of caf in front of them, and the steam is rising in swirls.

There are pictures of Urthhan citizens, wearing a myriad of ridiculously outlandish fashions or standing in front of landscapes Draven's only ever read of.

The pictures range from humorous, the pilot with a thick beard of bubbles, to sentimental, the monk with a supporting hand on Andor's back as they board public transportation.

Draven feels like he's prying. That is in fact what he is supposed to be doing, but it feels different now. Voyeuristic.

There's an image of the pilot laying in the captain's lap, and the look that Andor is sending down at him looks out of place on the face of the soldier Draven knows. The pilot means something, something important, and the next photo of them gently kissing, confirms it.

Draven doesn't think he's ever seen Captain Andor's actual smile. He's seen the diplomatic one, the falsely seductive one, even the innocent one, but they're all fronts. It's incredible how long you can work with someone in close quarters and never truly know them, Draven muses.

He rubs his face with a hand and locks the phone. So this is why Erso's daughter wants to keep it. Maybe Captain Andor isn't the only one who has changed.

The following morning, Draven heads to the mess to return Jyn's phone. As expected, she's sitting with the others, and they seem different now, now that he knows them better in some subtle way.

The pilot sits tall, currently talking about some mishap in the serving line, and he commands their attention, no longer hiding silently in the shadows. The assassin has the slightest of smiles on his face as he bumps the monk with an elbow, the very same monk who is still sporting the leather jacket he wore in so many of the photos. It looks out of place here on Hoth's drab and simplistic base, but he wears it well. That's not what catches Draven's eye. 

It's Cassian Andor, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow on the table and spine curved. He's slouching and interacting with others, almost unheard of in all the years he's been in the Rebellion.

Small six year old Cassian, with a ramrod stiff spine and permanently drawn brow. That's how Draven remembers him, not this man, stealing a spoonful of rice off Erso's plate.

Draven crosses the room, and the group falls silent. They return to neutral positions and expressions. Andor closes off again.

"Your phone has been cleared and is now permanently in your possession." Draven passes it to Jyn. She takes it without thanking him.

Not long after, their base is compromised, and they're forced to relocate yet again. The Rogue One team assists. There's no time to send them away, nor any reason to do so. They're off the Empire's radar, off everyone's really.

They load crates, fly shuttles, and provide cover.

One battle leads to another, and with Skywalker and his crew at the forefront, the Alliance finally emerges victorious, and the Empire is no more.

They're all still here. Erso, Îmwe, Malbus, and Rook. Andor is too of course, but Mon Mothma always knew he would be. They work together, flying diplomatic missions, transporting retreating troops, even seeing some action on the ground. It's more than they owe the Rebellion, she thinks. They've paid their dues a hundred times over, and they've never received any recognition. She thinks about medal ceremonies and parades.

They request something different.

"A vacation," Cassian says. He's the one on crutches this time; a frag grenade shredded his left calf and lower thigh. 

"A vacation?" Mon Mothma replies. "Granted. Where are you thinking? Back to Yavin IV?" It's where she plans to retire. She'll be accompanied by Shara Bey and Kes Dameron, each heroes as well in their own rights. They're planning to hold an actual wedding ceremony there, not the rushed version the Alliance had granted them mid-war. Perhaps Andor and Rook will want the same.

Instead, Jyn shakes her head. "No. Back to Earth," she says.

"Back to Earth?" Mon can't hide her surprise. "Your choice of the galaxy, and you choose Urthha?"

"It's not too bad. Once you get used to it," Bodhi speaks up. "And there's so much of it. So many other places. Better. More interesting. Different." He scratches his nose with his prosthetic hand. "It'll need to be longer than a month this time. It's hard to get around. Earth transportation is very slow."

"And bumpy," Chirrut adds.

Mon Mothma smiles. How can she deny them this? "Absolutely. The second I have a spare transport pilot, you may depart."

"Actually," Bodhi continues, "I was thinking maybe we-- or I guess, maybe I could fly us. This time. Or Cassian. Just, no more... other pilots."

"Well then, I'll requisition a shuttle. Whenever you're ready, you may go."

They thank her profusely, with stilted bows and salutes. She watches them head for the doors, and a single thought strikes her. "General Malbus," she calls, waiting for him to turn to look. "You still cannot bring weaponry with you."

He gives her a smile that's hardly reassuring.

It's less than an hour before she hears Admiral Rook over the radio. She stares out the bay window to see a beat-up cargo shuttle lift off.

"This is Rogue One," the pilot announces. "Pulling away."

She waves even if she knows they can't see.

**Author's Note:**

> it's only san francisco bc haha "write what you know"
> 
> if you live somewhere cooler (u probably do) u should write a spinoff where they visit your hometown. it'll probably be far more interesting.
> 
> i'd like to apologize to riz ahmed. 
> 
> and the R.A.P.S. group chat in general.


End file.
